


Aberrant

by jerodsamuel



Series: Aberrant [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Peter Parker, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Blood, College, Gay, Grown-up Peter Parker, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapping, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Precious Peter Parker, Reader-Insert, Superheroes, University, Violence, hero - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerodsamuel/pseuds/jerodsamuel
Summary: I’ve been babying the idea of writing a Peter Parker series for a little bit now, and I think that I’m ready. Just a few notes: it is Peter Parker x Male Reader, I’m kind of playing fast and loose when it comes to how canon-abiding this story is, Tony is still alive though, and Far From Home never happened because fuck that noise.





	1. What's Past is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been babying the idea of writing a Peter Parker series for a little bit now, and I think that I’m ready. Just a few notes: it is Peter Parker x Male Reader, I’m kind of playing fast and loose when it comes to how canon-abiding this story is, Tony is still alive though, and Far From Home never happened because fuck that noise.

Four years since Peter Parker came into your life…

Three years and seven months since you started dating…

Three years and two months since you first had sex with each another…

Three years and one month since you found out he’s Spider-Man…

Two years and nine months since he broke it off with you, leaving you a complete and utter wreck…

Two years and seven months since you found out you were both going to ESU…

Two years and five months since you had your first class together…

Two years and one month since you hooked up with Craig…

Two years and five days since you started dating Chloe…

One year and ten months since Peter called you late at night and told you how much he missed you and how ending it was a huge mistake…

One year and eight months since you ended it with Chloe…

One year and three months since you started dating Hasan…

One year since you and Peter got drunk and had sex…

Eleven months and fifteen days since Hasan found out and left you…

Ten months since you started dating Kyle…

Eight months since he broke it off…

Four months since you saw Peter at a party and hooked up with Isabelle…

Two months since Isabelle told you she had gotten pregnant and had an abortion…

One month and twenty-six days since you went to Peter’s dorm and he held you while you cried about the child you’ll never know…

One month and twenty-five days since you woke up in Peter’s bed the next day, still clinging onto him like your life depended on it…

One month since you started going over to Peter’s regularly…

Ten days since you kissed him…

Four days since you had sex with him…

One hour since Peter texted you saying that he wants to meet up and talk…

You stare at the message over and over again, not sure what to send back. He was your first love and the one person that you had compared everyone you’d been with since to.

No one_ ever_ measured up.

You were distraught when Peter ended it. You hadn’t even been together a year, but the boy had grown to mean so much to you. When he called you that night and told you he never should have broken up with you and that it was a mistake, you almost did it. You almost left Chloe and ran back to him. In the end, it probably _was _a huge factor in why you chose to end it with her.

Could you do it to yourself again? Risk the possibility of him leaving you just like before? Would he be worth it?

Of course he would…he always will be.

* * *

You shift uncomfortably in your chair for what must be the third time since you sat in it. Part of you hates yourself for pressing send on that text, the one that told Peter you’d meet him at the Daily Grind at 4. You check your phone again, 3:57 p.m. Your latte sits untouched in front of you, probably getting cold. You had gotten here at 3:30, figuring a half an hour would be enough time to compose yourself. You were wrong.

You could leave. Peter probably wouldn’t be none the wiser that you ever actually showed up. You tap the home button on your phone again, the screen coming to life.

3:58 p.m.

You reach forward to grab your bag, hesitating with your hand hovering above the strap, before falling back in the chair. You huff out of frustration. You’ve never been this nervous in your life, you’re sure of that. Your leg unconsciously starts bouncing. You awaken your phone again.

3:59 p.m.

You bring your hand to your mouth, teeth biting away at your nail. You thought you kicked this habit a while ago. Apparently, you were wrong about that too. You look around the shop, mop of curly brown hair nowhere in sight. Your phone lights up with a notification, and your eyes immediately fly to the large numbers in the center of the screen.

4:00 p.m.

Still no Peter. That shouldn’t surprise you though; Peter is well-known for his chronic tardiness. You reach out for your latte, hand stopping halfway before retracting to your mouth again. You check for the time again.

4:01 p.m.

4:02 p.m.

4:05

4:10

4:20

4:45

5:00

5:30

Peter shouldn’t be this late, especially not when he was the one that wanted to meet up in the first place. You unlock your phone, opening the messages app and start typing.

_"Hey, what’s up!? I’ve been waiting for an hour and a half!’_

_"Peter!’_

_"Peter!?’_

You look up at the top of the screen.

5:47 p.m.

You let out a long sigh, grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder. You dispose of your drink, which you never took a single sip of, and walk out into the pouring rain. _Great! The one time I don’t have my umbrella!_

You can’t help but feel as though you just got rejected by Peter for the second time. No wait, third time! _Who the fuck does he even think he is!? _You think to yourself._ Why do I let him do this to me over and over again!? Why am I always at his fucking beck and call!?_

_Because I still fucking love him…like a goddamn idiot!_

You trudge through the streets, your tears starting to mix in with the rain running down your face. _Fuck Peter Parker! Fuck him and his stupid, beautiful face! Fuck him and his smile that still makes me melt, and his intoxicating laugh, and his goddamn concern for others that makes him such an ineffably good person! Fuck him!_

Your feet just keep walking, taking on a mind of their own. Being so far in your head, you don’t even register that you’re nearing Peter’s dorm building. Your mind doesn’t catch up to your body’s actions until you’re standing outside Peter’s door, hand raised in a fist, ready to knock. You freeze in place; your mind being thrown into a whole debate about whether or not to knock. He probably isn’t even home, but that doesn’t stop you from slamming your fist against the door, knocking police-style.

“Peter!” you call out. “Peter Parker, I swear to god! If you’re in there, you better open this fucking door right now!” You’re fully aware of how loud you’re yelling. Fully aware that a few doors have opened around you, people peeking out to see what’s going on. The next few seconds seem to slow down for you. The only thing you can concentrate on is the sound of your own breathing.

You’re just about to storm off, never to talk to him again, when you hear it. A small noise from the other side of the door, something tumbling over. The door opens, the darkness inside the room giving you no clue as to whether or not it’s actually Peter inside. When a blue and red-gloved hand reaches out and grabs your shirt, however, you know for sure it’s him.

His grip tightens around the material and the next thing you know, you’re being yanked into the room. “Peter?” you call out into the darkness. You hear movement to your right before a light flicks on. Peter’s full body is clad in his spandex suit, minus his mask. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, light spilling out from the small space.

“Y/N…” he mutters. That’s when you see the blood staining the side of his suit, a rather large patch underneath his right pec.

“Peter…” is all you manage to get out before you have to catch him on account of him almost falling down. Any past thoughts about hating Peter have evaporated, replaced only with concern for this stupid boy that you’re still helplessly in love with. “How much blood have you lost!?”

“Probably too much.” He laughs lightly at his own joke before wincing in pain. You set him down on the edge of the tub, trying to get a better look at his side.

“Why aren’t you healing!?” He pushes the spider emblem on the center of his chest, the suit expanding and draping over him. You help him pull it off his shoulders, letting it drop into his lap.

“Something…in me...” He pulls his arm above his head, wincing in pain. You scan his side, trying to find the wound. It doesn’t take much deduction to figure out that the gaping hole with red tendrils branching out from it is the wound in question. You reach out, ghosting your fingers over the red veins contained under his skin.

“Peter…what the fuck were you up to!?”

“I was fighting some guys at this warehouse. It looked like a bunch of super important shit was there, like super important bad guy shit. One of them had a special gun, something I’ve never seen before and…” Another wince of pain as you get too close to the wound. “…and he definitely got me. Do you...do you think you could get it out?” Your eyes flick up, meeting his chocolate brown orbs. Your mind is thrown back to a similar scenario when you were dating. You had to pull a six-inch piece of rebar out of the other side of his body; his screams and cries of pain quickly reduced you to tears. It was actually how you found out he’s the web-slinging hero all of New York loves.

“Peter…” you sigh, “do you have tweezers?” He nods his head, pointing to the medicine cabinet above the sink. After retrieving the needed tool, which was a daunting task in and of itself given how unorganized Peter’s stuff is, you sit down next to him again. Your eye catches a pair of gloves resting in a basket right outside the bathroom. You quickly grab one, prompting Peter to open his mouth before having him bite down on it. “You ready?” you ask. He nods his head, reaching for your hand before remembering he’d probably break it if he held it. He retreats, opting instead to grip the tub.

"Here we go,” you mumble before pushing the tweezers into the wound. More blood spills out from it, obviously agitated by the foreign object inside him. Well, the newer foreign object. You feel the tip of the tweezers hit something hard. You let them open all the way, pushing in further. Peter screams into the glove as the metal scrapes against his insides. “Sorry…’ You can feel the bottom catch on the end of the bullet, not going underneath it. You spread the tweezers even further, earning another scream from Peter. This time when you push in further, you can feel either side of the tweezers have fully gripped the object.

You start to pull back, slow enough to make sure you don’t lose your grip. Peter’s screaming has been reduced to light whimpers, a few tears streaking down his cheeks. You finally pull the offending object out, dropping it into the sink with a satisfying ‘clink.’ “There you go, your healing should take care of the rest,” you state from experience. He pulls the glove out of his mouth, giving you an appreciative smile. You’re just about to open your mouth to ask him more when you see a streak of black liquid ooze out of his side. Your brows furrow in confusion as you lean in a little closer to inspect it.

You jump as Peter starts to scream in agony, the black liquid now flowing from the wound, mixing with dark red blood. You panic, doing the only thing your limited first-aid training tells you to; apply pressure to the wound. You grab a towel, pressing it against his side. His screams only intensify in volume and severity, the towel quickly getting soaked. You grab another one, pressing it against his side and hoisting him up onto his feet. His suit falls to the floor, his boxers the only clothing left on him. “Come on, Pete. We have to get you to a hospital.”

His legs give out under him; you’re barely are able to catch him and still hold the towel to his side. You groan in frustration and exertion as you haul him into your arms. His powers might make him very light for his size, but he’s still a full-grown human being. After adjusting so the towel is pressing into you as you carry him, you somehow manage to pull open the door to the hallway. People have gathered outside due to the screaming; which Peter is now trying hard to suppress. An older guy, the dorm RA, comes up to both of you, immediately asking what’s going on.

“He’s hurt, badly. Needs to go to the hospital,” you respond, barely able to hold in your tears as Peter resumes his tortured screaming and crying.

“Come with me. The university hospital isn’t far from here.” You nod and follow the other man, pulling Peter slightly closer to you.

“You’ll be okay,” you whisper to him, “Please. You have to be okay.”


	2. Catalyst

By the time the three of you burst through the doors of the emergency ward, you’re a complete mess. Peter leaned his head into you in an attempt to muffle his anguished noises about halfway to the hospital. It didn’t work, and every scream, every cry, every whimper he makes breaks your heart into smaller and smaller pieces. A full team of nurses swarms you, each trying to examine the boy in your arms. Your senses are drowned out, all that you can see and hear is Peter. His beautiful face twisted and mangled by a deep expression of unadulterated pain; the noises that are slowly killing you still spilling from his mouth. Nothing else is there. Nothing else matters.

Your mind eventually plummets back to reality as you feel him being pulled out of your arms. The same nurses, joined now by a few doctors, taking him away from you and resting him on a gurney. You react purely on instinct, shoving one of them aside to get closer to Peter again. And get closer to him you do, until a pair of arms wraps around you from behind, pulling you in the opposite direction of wherever they’re taking him. You reach back out for him, one of his hands still gripping onto your shirt as if his life depended on it. He loses his grip after a few seconds, unconsciousness taking him. They wheel him down a hallway. Away from you.

You try to push forward, possessed with the compulsion to not leave him, but the arms tighten their grip, holding you in place. You lose sight of him, and your limbs go limp; giving into the embrace you’re locked in.

* * *

Your leg bounces at a constant pace, eyes locked on the interlacing pattern of the tile floor. Your arms are wrapped around your torso, holding yourself. _What’s happening in there? _you think to yourself. _What’s happening to Peter?_

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a certain woman with long brown hair run up to the front desk. You jump from your seat, hurrying over to her. “May?” She jumps as you place your hand on her shoulder, whipping around to face you. Her expression softens when she realizes your face, her arms quickly pulling you into a hug.

“Y/N!? Are you here for Peter?” she questions. You pull away from the embrace, nodding your head.

“I-I brought him here. H-he was hurt, and I helped him and-and this stuff started to come out of his body, and…” You hadn’t even noticed that you had started crying again until her hand wipes away your tears.

“It’s okay.” Her eyes are kind and comforting, just like they have always been. Her soft expression holds her own tears which are threatening to spill out. “They told me I can’t see Peter right now because he’s in surgery. How about we sit down?” You nod your head pathetically, letting her lead you back to a set of chairs.

After a few moments of silence, a doctor approaches both of you. “May Parker?” the woman asks. May nods her head, jumping up out of her seat.

“How is Peter? Is he going to be okay?”

“We’ve managed to flush out whatever it was that was in his body, and we’re sending it to a lab now for analysis, but Peter has lost a lot of blood. His blood type is rare, and we’ve already used all of our stores. We were hoping to see if your blood is compatible.”

“Definitely!”

“I’ll go too!” you chime in, “If I can help Peter, I want to.” May smiles at you as the doctor gestures for both of you to follow her. You’re taken to a room where you both have a small amount of blood extracted before the doctor leaves to have the samples tested. When she returns, she looks directly at you. “You’re an almost perfect match. If you’ll just sign a few consent forms, we can begin a blood extraction.” You vigorously shake your head yes. _Anything to help Peter._

* * *

“The transfusion was a complete success,” Doctor Halstead, you had discovered her name is, speaks cheerfully. May beams back at her as she’s perched next to Peter on the hospital bed. You’re sitting in the chair on his other side, stealing glances at the boy that you’re realizing more and more you’re still in love with. _I guess the thought of someone you still love dying is enough to make you realize that you** do** still love them. _The mention of your name pulls you back to reality, head turning to face Dr. Halstead.

“Huh?” you ask.

“I said…if it weren’t for you, Peter might have ended up in a much worse condition,” she responds. You mouth an ‘o’ before turning back to the boy in question.

“My hero,” he swoons melodramatically. All four of you chuckle at his antics, Peter’s boyish charm obviously still able to produce the effect. You jump slightly as Peter rests his hand on yours, the other boy throwing you a closed-lip smile as he squeezes your hand lightly. You smile at the small gesture as he subconsciously starts to caress the top of your hand with his thumb. He really is stunning. The past few years have only made him even more beautiful. You can’t break your eyes away from his face as the thoughts start to run through your head. You’ve seen him quite a bit recently, but you never _really _took the time to stop and give him a good look.

“Anyway,” Dr. Halstead continues, “You’ll have to stay in the hospital for a while. Just so we can make sure your healing gets off on the right foot. It shouldn’t be much longer than a week or two.” You and Peter share a look, knowing that you’ll soon have to deal with some very confused medical staff when his wound heals much faster than it should.

“Do you have any idea what that stuff was that…came out of his body?” you question.

“The lab is running a full series of tests. We likely won’t see any results for a few days. Don’t worry, as soon as we figure anything out, we’ll let you know. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Parker.”

All three of you thank her before she leaves you alone. Against your objections, your body lets a rather long yawn slip out. “Y/N, you should go get some sleep,” May partially suggests and partially commands. You shake your head.

“No, I want to stay here.”

“Y/N, please,” Peter interjects, “Go back to your dorm and get some sleep. You can visit me tomorrow after the rally.”

“Oh my god, I completely forgot! Maybe I can just have Tara speak for me.”

“Y/N, you helped found ESU’s chapter of Friends of Mutants. If anyone should be speaking tomorrow when the senator is here, it’s you.”

“But, Peter…you’re more important right now.”

“I am _not _more important than fighting for mutant equal rights. Go get some sleep and finish writing your speech. I’ll be right here when you’re done tomorrow.” You sigh in defeat, knowing that both of them are way too stubborn to let you get your way. You nod your head before standing up and making to leave.

“Please keep me in the loop about everything,” you direct towards May. She wraps her arms around you in another hug.

“Of course.” She pulls away, looking you straight in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two right now, but I’m so thankful that you helped him. I knew there was a reason I always liked you.” You give her a smile, throwing Peter one last look before leaving the hospital.

**MEANWHILE…**

“We’ve picked up on another one; Empire State University Hospital. The markers are very faint, but they’re definitely there. Checking local hospital records is really paying off, don’t you think? I had no idea there were this many mutants in New York!” the lanky man exclaims as he spins around in his chair.

“Is their DNA viable?” comes a somber reply.

“Y-yes, I-I believe they would make an excellent test subject for the virus.”

_“Find them. And bring them in.”_


	3. The Loss

“Mutants are people too! If we try to suppress their rights, we’d be no better than the slaveholders in the early years of this country! Or the Nazis, who murdered millions of people that they deemed _different_! We must be better! We _have _to be better! Senator, I’m begging you, please, vote against this bill!” you direct the final sentence to the gray-haired man standing across the plaza. “Please, show future generations that we chose to take a stand, that we chose to join hands with our mutant brothers and sisters, fighting against any misgivings or prejudices we may have, and worked together to forge a better future!”

He holds eye contact with you for a few moments before straightening his suit and walking away, followed by his regiment of security. “That was great, Y/N!” Tara exclaims, throwing her arms around your neck. You sigh defeatedly, gently pushing her away.

“It didn’t matter, any of it. You saw him! He’s still going to vote for the bill. It was stupid to think that we could do anything to change his mind.” You unceremoniously plop down onto the side of the small stage. “I just…it’s wrong, Tara. You know? I thought we moved past segregation, but now it’s a different “group” of people so it’s suddenly gonna all be okay again!” She sits beside you, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“We can’t change the world overnight. But that doesn’t mean that we give up and stop fighting. The only way we can truly win is to not back down until everyone sees how wrong this bill is. How wrong it is to treat anyone like second-class citizens.” You smile slightly, pulling her into a side-hug.

“Thanks, T.”

“Someone has to keep your idealist ass a little grounded.” You both burst into a small round of laughter. “So, wanna go grab a bite?”

“No, I need to go see Peter.”

“Oh, that’s right. The boy that broke your heart, caused you to ruin two separate relationships, and drove you to have sex with a girl and get her pregnant, only for you to be devastated when she told you she got an abortion.”

“Hey, lay off. Peter’s…I don’t know. Peter’s just…” you draw out a long sigh.

“Oh my god.” Her eyes go wide as her mouth drops open. “You still love him, don’t you!?”

“Sshhh! You don’t need to let all of Manhattan know!” you whisper yell at her, “But if you must know…I think so.”

“Oh, shit. You have it bad.” You throw her a quizzical look. “I can see it on your face when you talk about him, idiot.” She takes her turn to sigh. “Look, douchecanoe, just don’t get hurt, okay? I remember how torn up you were after Chloe and Hasan. He’s done enough to hurt you.”

“T, I love you, and I know you’re just trying to look out for me. But…something about Peter feels different. I don’t know how to explain it, but the past few weeks I’ve been hanging out with him… He just…he makes me happy, okay? I like being around him; it feels good to be around him.” She puts her hands up in surrender as you fish your phone out of your backpack.

“Fine. But don’t coming crying to me if he breaks your heart aga-” The look on your face as you scroll through notification after notification on your phone stops her train of thought in its tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Peter. Something’s wrong. I have to go.” You throw your bag over your shoulder and take off towards the hospital, your mind immediately running through the worst scenarios you can think of.

* * *

You pant deeply as your body slams into the doorjamb of Peter’s room, the pain shooting through your arm a mere afterthought when you see the state of the boy in front of you. He looks pale, much paler than he should, and the bags under his eyes are puffy and red. His gaze locks onto yours, a choked sob immediately leaving his throat, his hands flying up to hide his face. You cut the distance in an instant, laying on the bed next to him and pulling him into yourself. When his side hits yours, however, he yelps and jumps away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask tenderly, cradling the side of his face in your hand. He hiccups through another sob, eyes cemented shut as he attempts to avoid your eyes. “Petey…what is it?” No response; not so much as a single word or facial expression. Just the small sounds of his continued crying. “Hey…Petey, you’re scaring me. You don’t get this worked up unless it’s something huge. So, come on…what is it?”

Your soft voice manages to coax his eyes open, chocolate orbs glistening in a sheen of tears. Another involuntary sob escapes his lips the second his eyes meet yours, sparking your other hand to instinctually reach up and cradle his face between both palms. Your thumbs gingerly wipe away his tears, eyes never breaking their lock with his gaze. The question again dances on your lips. _What could have happened?_

Movement in the corner of your eye finally breaks your gaze, shifting your attention down to Peter’s hands, which are hesitantly lifting up his shirt. “Pete-“ you start, your words falling short when he pulls back the large gauze pad taped to his side. Stitches. Still fresh from surgery the day before.

“I-It’s not healing, Y/N,” he chokes out. Your fingers dance around the wound, ghosting over the warm skin surrounding it. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s not healing. It sh-should have healed already, but it’s not! I-I don’t-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you coo as you pull him into an embrace, sensing his anxiety building by the second, “Maybe your healing is just taking a little longer? You were pretty weak, and you lost all that blood.”

“You don’t get it,” Peters exclaims, pushing you away, “It should have healed by now! I-I’ve taken a bullet before, and I-”

“Wait, you _what_!? Why did I not know abou- You know what, not important right now. Peter, I’m sure that it’s nothing to worry about.”

“No!” he screams, quickly approaching the verge of distraught, “It’s not healing cause my powers are gone!” The entire room freezes in time, your brain taking too long to fully realize the words that just erupted from his mouth.

He quickly stands up, pushing you aside as he leaves the bed. “I should be able to climb walls!” he screams as he attempts to jump on one, hands and feet making contact before he falls flat on the floor. You rip yourself from your shocked state of mind, rushing to help him up. He refuses any of your attempts to do so, pulling himself up and stalking over to a chair on the other side of the room. “I should be able to tear this apart with my bare hands!” His frantic attempts to do so are also met with utter failure.

“I should be able to hear better, a-and see better…” his tone has quickly become hysterical, mind racing from word to word with little thought, “and…and throw myself out this window without a scratch! This wound-” He yanks his shirt up again, fingers grabbing at the lacing that holds the flesh together. Your eyes widen in horror as he manages to wriggle his finger around one. “This wound shouldn’t even be here anymore!” His hand flies forward, yanking the string. Ripping flesh and screams of pain are the only things your senses can make out, your mind frozen in time and reeling.

“Peter!” you scream once your mind finally careens back to reality. Your body takes on a mind of its own as it flings you towards him. It’s too late; he frantically pulls more and more, tears spilling from his eyes as blood pours from his body. By the time you reach his side and grab his hands with your own, the stitches have all been ripped from his skin, the gaping hole in his side rearing its ugly head, now joined by ripped flesh. “Peter…”

He falls into you, body shaking violently with sobs. You pull him close, your own eyes wet with tears as you drag him with one arm, the other one desperately reaching for the emergency button next to the bed. A sickening trail of crimson runs down his side, trailing behind you on the floor. Your fingers barely ghost the red plastic, your arm lunging forward to slam the button with all the force you can muster.

Both of you fall to the floor as alarms start to sound outside the room. Peter’s sobs are echoed by your own as you pull him closer. “Oh my god, Peter…” you croak, “Oh my fucking god.”


End file.
